Normality
by blackpearl23456
Summary: Sherlock and John are happily married and everything is going on as normal. Until one day, it isn't. Continuation from 'On Marriage', but can be read alone. Sherlock/John.


It had been a perfectly normal day in the life of Sherlock Holmes. He had woken up to the sound of his phone ringing; Lestrade had a new case for him. He had lain in bed for a further five minutes, enjoying the warm weight of his husband's head resting on his chest, before he untangled his legs from John's and went to have a shower. By the time he was dry and fully dressed, John was in the kitchen, drinking tea, making toast, and just generally getting ready for a day at the surgery. Sherlock had grabbed one of the freshly buttered slices of toast, kissed John briefly on the lips and dashed down the stairs of 221B Baker Street. Completely normal.

That is, it had been, until Sherlock returned home later that evening to find a small, brown and white puppy in their living room.

"John," Sherlock said, upon hearing his husband pottering around in the kitchen. "You may or may not be aware, but there is a dog in our flat."

John emerged from the kitchen with a towel and a plate of dog food. "Yes I know there is. I put him there." He wrapped the puppy in the towel and placed the plate on the floor in front of him.

"Why is there a dog in our flat?" Sherlock asked, shrugging off his coat and heeling off his shoes.

"Firstly, he is not a dog; he is an English Bulldog puppy. Secondly, his name is Gladstone. Thirdly, he is in our flat because someone at work bought him but couldn't look after him, so he's ours now." John sat down on the sofa and watched Gladstone devour the dog food.

Sherlock joined him. "So we have a dog now?"

John leant over to kiss him briefly on the lips. "Excellent deduction. You truly are a genius. Plus it's not like we're ever going to have children, so I figured a dog is the next best thing."

Sherlock frowned, but said nothing.

It wasn't until much later, when they were both in bed that Sherlock spoke about it again.

"Yes," he said into the darkness.

John rolled over to face him. "What?"

"If you had asked me if I wanted children I would have said yes."

John sat up and switched on the bedside light. Sherlock groaned and flung an arm across his eyes.

"I never thought you'd want…" John began, his heart hammering inside his chest. He had always assumed that he would marry a woman, settle down and have a kid, maybe two, but the idea had seemed frankly preposterous after he had entered into a relationship with Sherlock.

"You never asked." Sherlock sat up opposite John, legs crossed.

John scratched his head. "No, I suppose I didn't. Sherlock, this is very important to me, and it's a serious decision. You can't just go along with it half-heartedly."

"I don't do anything half-heartedly, John." He leant forwards, his blue eyes searching John's brown ones. "I want this."

John's face broke into a smile, and he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "How are we going to go about doing this? Who's going to be the father?" He asked after they broke apart.

"We'll never be able to agree on who should be the father, you'll say it should be me, and I'll say it should be you."

"So what do we do?"

"We find a surrogate mother who would be willing to be injected with both our sperm. Then it could be either of us, and we won't know until the baby is born, as it should have a recognisable characteristic in common with its father."

John smiled wryly; that was Sherlock, clinical as always. He settled back down into the bed and opened his arms for his husband to slip into. "That sounds like a good idea," he said, planting a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. "We'll talk about it more in the morning?" He reached across to turn off the lamp, careful not to dislodge Sherlock from his current position with his head on John's chest.

"Of course," came Sherlock's reply, his lips brushing against John's chest as he spoke.

They lapsed into a content silence for a few minutes, until Sherlock became aware of a noise from the living room. "What is that noise?" He murmured, his head snapping up.

"Oh God, I think it's Gladstone scratching at something," replied John, scrambling out of the bed. Upon reaching the kitchen, he found Gladstone sat innocently in front of one of the kitchen cupboards, which was now sporting quite a few evident claw marks. "Oh Gladstone, Mrs Hudson's going to have a fit," John groaned.

He heard Sherlock laughing hysterically from the bedroom. "You know, John, I'm beginning to become quite fond of Gladstone."

"Shut up, Sherlock!"

Yes, thought Sherlock as John padded back into the bedroom a few minutes later. Today had definitely not been normal at all. But you know, that wasn't a bad thing at all.


End file.
